


like a thousand red flowers growing in a black garden

by Ryellee



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, crossposted from tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryellee/pseuds/Ryellee
Summary: A trillion timelines, and all at war. Ficlets, prompts and all other shorties crossposted from my tumblr.
Relationships: The Drifter/Female Guardian (Destiny)
Kudos: 6





	1. Protégée [Tallulah & Eris]

It took one look at the figure huddled on the windowsill for Tallulah to understand what Saint had meant by “lost”.

The new Huntress was bareheaded, the evening breeze from the open window stirring her dark hair and a brand-new cloak. She was hunched over a fusion rifle in her lap, loading and unloading it meticulously, sometimes checking the weight of the magazine in her hand before attaching it again. Every piece of her armour was marked proudly with the Vanguard sigil and seemed starkly clean, its colours still bright and fresh.

New Guardians usually came in tree different types. Through the years spent in the Tower Tallulah had learned to recognise them on sight, once even engaging in a weeks-long bingo game with Pahanin about it during a particularly busy season. There were the cocky ones, faux-confident and gloating over ravaging some Fallen encampment on their way to the City, hiding their insecurity behind a nice gun they couldn’t shoot for the love of Light. There were the cute and helpless, Tallulah’s personal favourite, gaping at the Towe’s splendid majesty with wide eyes; they would often grow into overhonourable Titans or starry-eyed Hunters, or join the Praxics and be lost for life. And there were the silent and brooding, curling in on themselves and skittish like a wild fox, already seeming traumatised and old-soul with how their wary eyes scanned the surroundings without uttering a word. One glance at the Huntress and Tallulah knew she had to approach her cautiously not to scare her off like Zavala’s stupid cat.

Maybe Pahanin still had that bingo card.

With what she hoped was a calm and friendly attitude, she walked up to the new Guardian, stopping a step away from the windowsill. The Huntress raised her head, two watery-grey eyes staring back at Tallulah with suspicion that masked the fear underneath.

“Hey!” She leaned against the wall and flashed the girl a smile, “Heard you’re the new Hunter in town.”

“I suppose so,” the Huntress tipped her head slightly, her eyes still scrutinizing Tallulah’s face.

“I’m Tallu. Your boss, technically. But I usually just read boring field reports and buy you guys drinks.” Tallulah gestured at the fusion rifle, “Need a little help with setting that up?”

The new Guardian blinked, looked down at the gun, then at Tallulah and back at the gun. Tallulah could imagine wheels turning in her head, the distrust and embarrassment battling with the need of comfort and guidance in this strange, new place. Eventually, she raised her head and nodded.

“Great!” Tallulah clapped her hands. “Come, I’ll guide you to the main armoury. Fusions are a bit tricky to get a hold of, you could try something easier to start with. I can show you around the Tower later, if you’d like—” She broke off, suddenly self-conscious about whether she wasn’t smothering the girl with her talking.

But the Guardian nodded again and smiled shyly, “It would be lovely.”

She stood up slowly and smoothed out her cloak, still stiff from freshness, with the diligence of a true Hunter. Pride fluttered in Tallulah’s heart at the sight.

“You’ve chosen your name yet, kid?”

“Eris.”

“Sounds cool,” she smiled, “I’m glad to have you on our team, Eris.”


	2. Stars [Krill OC]

Night paints the sky over the Osmium Court an umber shade, and the usual evening mist has subsided, allowing the light of eighteen moons to pierce through and flood the harbour with a gentle glow. Lying on the bottom of a moored boat they have climbed to watch the sky, Alloin draws invisible lines between the stars with her claw, mapping out constellations her father taught her. The sea is peaceful; it sways the boat gently, and there is almost no risk of waves suddenly tipping it and dragging them under to their deaths. The almost thrills her because she is young and daring, but she relishes the calmness of the ocean because she loves Menketh and would never put him in peril.

His arm is wrapped around her, sinewy and pale, and his eyes trace the movement of her finger against the canvas of the sky. They are like three glowing stars themselves – pallid blue, full of mysteries and silent as he is, observing the world like a chessboard and mapping the paths of the pieces. Alloin loves each one, and she turns to gaze into them for a long moment before summoning up the courage to speak.

“Tomorrow my father makes sail for Kaharn. And I am going with him.” She watches for any change on his face, but Menketh just nods slowly.

“Maybe when you return, I will have already finished my training.”

Alloin thinks about his thin fingers wrapped around the halberd’s shaft, of cold armouries with tall ceilings and narrow mesh windows. “I will miss you terribly.”

“And I will swing my edge ever so strongly so that it could cut through time and bring me a second closer to you.”

Twinkling stars reflect in his twinkling eyes and Alloin focuses all her senses to remember this image, to etch it in herself and wear like a memorabilium. She thinks of troubled seas and angry skies, of stormjoys and rains and Helium Drinkers raiding their shores every day. What if he is called to fight, his head weighted down by a helmet and the soft, unscaled shoulder blades scratching against heavy pauldrons?

“Every time you miss me,” Menketh says and rubs his cheek against hers, “Look up at the fifth moon and I will look up at it too. And our eyes will meet, reflected by the glow.”

She nuzzles up to his side. “I will bring you shells to embed in your armour.”

“And I will wear them because they will have come from you.”

The boat’s lazy swaying lulls Alloin into a state of lethargy, the curve of Menketh’s protruding ribs a familiar and comforting shape. She thinks about the orange ocean, vicious and merciless, and how it could sink their boat on a whim for no other reason than ill luck. She thinks about the Kaharn Atoll and wonders what if it is nothing like she imagined, what if her father’s stories were but beautiful linen draped over a corpse. Or what if it is better, more glorious than he would tell, what if it is the loveliest place she will ever see—what if she will die with the knowledge that such majesty exists, sprawled on the dark, jagged rocks of her Osmium home?

Menketh stirs beside her, readjusting his arm around her shoulders. One day they will never be parted again, Alloin thinks, when they are old enough to be wed, and he will serve in the palace guard and she will be sailing the seas and bringing home treasures and stories. She will go to the Kaharn Atoll and find out whether it is still magnificent and grand, whether the stars there truly sprinkle from the sky and coat the waves in effervescent, golden shimmer. And then, she thinks solemnly, she will take him there.


	3. Penguins [Eliksni OC]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by just the [cutest post](https://fireteam-of-idiots.tumblr.com/post/644737744516579328/imagine-a-young-eliksni-on-europa-who-finds-one-of) by @fireteam-of-idiots c:

The blizzard was merciless, bitter cold, and it prickled Yviiks’ skin needle-like. It crept in between layers of her clothing, slipped under the collar and pantlegs; her oversized mittens were soaked throughout from digging in the snow and beginning to freeze over. She was crouching in some old Human ruins and burrowing through a pile of metal junk, and the wind swept in through the holes in the walls. Her fingers were frozen stiff.

She was the youngest Dreg on the salvage team; the only task she had been allowed to assign for for an extra ration of ether. On days like these she would often question the decision, but reminding herself of her brother’s starvation was usually enough of an incentive to keep digging. Blizzard didn’t happen every day, she would say to herself, and the Vandal who would oversee their work wasn’t much of a pain either. Sometimes he even turned a blind eye to Yviiks pocketing the less valuable junk she could later flog off on the black market.

The temperature was still dropping and Yviiks wondered idly whether he’d cut the patrol short if it got much worse. She sorted the metal scraps almost mechanically, assessing their value without wasting a second glance. The quicker she worked, the more she would hand over, and the bigger her ration would be. But something caught her attention, suddenly, a shimmer of colour among the grey-blue monochrome, and she carefully stuck her hand in between the half-frozen metal.

What she fished out was bright orange, plastic and oddly-shaped – somewhere between a ball and a figurine, with a bulky head and long flat claws. It didn’t resemble anything she’d usually find on her patrols, cold jagged things with sharp corners and wires sticking out. It looked almost innocent. Like a toy she remembered from her earliest days, little doll made of cloth lying around the nursery. A strange fondness overcame her, and suddenly the cold felt insignificant.

Yviiks knew she couldn’t show up with it at the rally point; it was _special_. They wouldn’t let her keep it. She glanced around hastily and tucked her trove under her arm, then proceeded to climb down the ruined carcass as quietly as possible. She had been on enough patrols to know the area well, and spotting places others would overlook was sort of her specialty. Hurriedly, before anyone would notice her disappearance, she slipped into one of the many glacier caves and hid the toy on the far end.

It looked so helpless and alone, its happy oranges stark against the snow, and for a moment Yviiks felt bad about leaving it here in the cold and darkness.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered, leaning forward to stroke it gently with her mitten, and ran out to join the rest of the team already trudging to the rally point.

* * *

It was only after seven orbits that Yviiks was able to go on patrol again. The storm had been raging so ferociously they all had been tucked in Riis-Reborn, not even the food supply groups eager to brave the elements. But for all it was worth, now was a pleasantly warm morning and the sun had even showed up – a white dot on the sky, blinding-bright like the lightbulb in her sleeping pod, filling Yviiks with contentment she couldn’t quite place.

The instant her team had scattered about the terrain and their warden looked away, she sprinted to her cavern. It was still dark and cold, but seemed slightly pleasanter than before, with the sunbeams refracting in the snow crystals and painting the ground in every colour at once.

She ran to the far end of the cave and almost gasped when she reached the wall. Her trove wasn’t there. Only an impression in the snow where it used to stand, and a set of footprints other than her own. Yviiks knelt on the ground, suddenly feeling so heavy inside.

 _When_ could that happen? This had been the first day so much as suitable for going out in several orbits! Guilt and anger were bubbling in her little heart as she stared into the imprint and cursed herself. She should’ve taken it with her; maybe they wouldn’t notice, maybe she would manage to sneak it past under her shawl…

She sat in the cave for a long time, and almost didn’t care about the ether ration slipping between her fingers right now, and the sun didn’t feel any warmer anymore.

* * *

When the Technocrat was killed, Riis-Reborn plunged into chaos.

Rumours about Light-children roaming Europa and picking out Kell’s council one by one were barely rumours anymore. Fewer and fewer patrols came back with a full squad. Food supply was dwindling and Captains had to implement strict rationing. Yviiks stopped going out altogether; tucked under a wall in the overcrowded canteen, she would catch scraps of conversations, names exchanged in hushed tones, lists of casualties found and still missing.

But these were not the only rumours.

Reksas, the Vandal she shared her sleeping pod with, told her about Yevik. She had been born in House Wolves before it broke apart and ended up on the Shore with some of her old crew; somehow, they managed to keep in touch even after she’d left for Europa. Yevik spoke Terran, and he passed on some news. There was a new House forming.

As days passed, the situation was only getting worse. Captains growing restless, dragging their crews out for battles they could never win; food running short; Eramis-Kell locking herself up in her obsession. By the time a ragtag group formed in a stockroom deep on the lowest levels, among empty crates and ether tanks, there was nothing keeping Yviiks in Riis-Reborn.

They left at dawn, forcing their way through the storm. Snow and ice needles stung their eyes, and Yviiks wondered whether they would die out here, blinded by the blizzard and shot by Eramis’ snipers, or starved and frozen in place when they’d have no strength to move. Reksas breathed heavily behind her, inhaling what ether was left in her rebreather; it was the only sound she could hear above the howling wind. They climbed arduously, hiding from the Vex and Light-children. Colourful glow was the only indication of their presence, and Yviiks found herself admiring it quietly. It was beautiful and deadly, like most things she had encountered in her short life.

They didn’t notice a vehicle approaching—a Light-Pike, frailer but swifter, encircling their little crew. Reksas shouted in fear and surprise, and Yviiks could only watch the Light-child turn their head in her direction, then raise their weapon.

The metallic noise of a Vex frame collapsing to the ground was barely audible through the storm.

* * *

Variks was tall and old, green robes hanging from his haggard frame like a tattered banner. The Light-child brought them to him, reigning over a cluster of sheds and platforms, and he offered them a shelter until the storm would pass. He knew of House Light, he said, he would help them find it.

At this point Yviiks didn’t care. She was tired and hungry, and left the talking to Reksas. She strolled around their temporary refuge, searching a place warm enough to nap and not freeze to death, when a door ajar caught her attention.

The room was dimly-lit, full of crates and Human machines whizzing softly. Chairs and tables, papers cluttered on the floor—her scavenging senses alert, she scrutinized it for anything worth her time. And then she saw it, a flash of orange in the corner to her right. Her trove.

She almost laughed out, running up to it—stopping mid-step. Her ball-figurine was sitting upon a crate, yes, but next to her there was another one, and when Yviiks turned around, she spotted two more, no, three—

“Found Variks’ little friends, yes?”

She jumped, startled. Variks was standing in the doorway, leaning on his staff; it made him look almost harmless, and there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

“Guardians bring those from patrols. Scattered across Europa.” He took one of the toys in his lower hands. “They found new home now, here.”

“I saw one of these,” Yviiks cocked her head, “I hid it, but someone took it, and…” She looked around the room, stopping at each orange belly and each innocent, jovial face. “I think, maybe it ran away because it was lonely.”

“They are no more. You helped it find the way home, yes?” Varik walked up to her and reached out the toy. She took it gently, like a shard of glass, and met his glowing cyan eyes. “You helped them reunite, as they always should have been. As Eliksni will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, Yevik is in fact an actual Destiny character! He appears only in the lore tab to [Twilight Oath](https://www.ishtar-collective.net/entries/twilight-oath) but that's a good enough reason for me to include him :P


	4. Malfeasance [OC]

The moment Ór’s room’s door shuts behind her, Runi materialises, his eye blinking irately.

“Why did you take it?”

Ór moves past him, taking her cloak off and throwing it on the chair. The gun is heavy on her hip—sickly silver-black, Taken ozone almost a palpable taste in the air.

“You heard me, you were there too.” Her back is facing him. She undoes her pigtails and reaches for the hairbrush.

Runi buzzes like an angry wasp, floating in circles across the room. When Ór turns to him with folded arms, he stops and slams his petals shut.

“Who do you think he is?”

“A broken renegade with trust issues?” Ór’s eyebrows go up. She sounds calm, if somewhat miffed.

“And a two-faced murderer.”

“Most probably.”

Still twitching his shell back and forth furiously, he follows her as she sits on the bed and takes off her necklaces. The silence between them is heavy with the unsaid, and when a jade pendant flickers in the lamplight, he cannot hold it in any longer.

“You care for him, right?”

She looks up at Runi, then away to the window. “Mhm.”

“…why?”

Ór’s eyes flick back to him, something long dormant since the clash with Zavala sparkling up in them like a warning.

“Because nothing has yet convinced me I shouldn’t!” Her hand closes around the pendant. “The damn _Nine_ deemed him as ‘worthy’, which puts him in the same league as Eris Morn. And while I’d die for quite a few people, I would _kill_ for Eris Morn. Yet everyone acts around him as if he was a pile of rotten fruit.”

Runi spins his petals as Ór places the necklaces in the wall niche serving as a shelf next to her bed. He shifts uncomfortably.

“I didn’t want to tell you this, but…” his optic sweeps the room as if avoiding her gaze. “You know, at first I thought you were just… desperate for a mentor, that’s why you clung to him. But now I’m worried you’re—you’re getting too invested.”

She stares at him intensely and he cannot avoid her eyes anymore. Her face expresses no anger, just mild curiosity.

“Elaborate.”

“Look, I love you. I don’t want to see you hurt... And I know that if he double-crosses you, if it turns out he’s been playing you false all along—I _know_ how it will crush you.” He floats up to her and hovers at arm’s length. “I don’t want him to break your heart.”

She breaks the eye contact and glances to the jade pendant sitting on the shelf in a coil of red cord. The silence between them feels thick.

“I’m not afraid he’ll do that,” she replies eventually, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head atop them. A strand of hair falls over her face. “I was… for a long time, I had it in the back of my mind. But not anymore.”

“What if?” Runi presses on. She looks so innocent, so vulnerable, with hair undone and no makeup, no heavy armour or a hood hiding her face in shadow. No weapon to defend herself. He wants to scream at the thought of someone turning against her, this defenceless and fragile. She closes her eyes and brushes the strand away.

“A risk worth taking.”

He observes his Guardian slide under the blankets and turning the nightlamp off with a click. It’s so annoying how she just won’t listen, he thinks, how she wagers her heart so lightly. She won’t admit it’s burnt her, no, she never does, she will only speak less and brood more and maybe make a rebellious bad decision to kill the sorrow. Funny how she still sometimes feels opaque to him.

From his spot on the shelf, he is keeping watch as she slips into a dream, effortlessly and gently like a sunbeam finding a way through the curtains. Of one thing he is certain, the day he will cease to protect her will be the day he dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another part of my nonexistent Ór fic ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
